lancerusfandomcom-20200213-history
Ellin's Ascension
It was early hours when the leaders of Men rose to discuss the fate of thousands. Upon the fields Arn, where countless souls had rose and fallen, Gildor and her vassal armies set their war camp strong. Autumn City, crown jewel of the Arnish kingdom, was surrounded by her enemies in a siege that seemed unending. The air was quiet, few birds even sang their songs. As the wind rolled a cool warning of Arnish winter, the gates of Autumn City opened. Ellin Song, Aggerlis Ceol, and the Arnish Oligarchy walked from their protected city towards the looming Gildorian war camp. Darshia awaited them. The meeting had been predetermined; Larkenvale and her Arnish allies were at a grave disadvantage. Should the war continue, it would surely lead to the demise not only of Larken sovereignty, but of countless lives. So it was with this threat of death that Ellin and her advisors were to end the war diplomatically with Gildor. The tent opened at the behest of the guards stationed outside. “Queen Ellin,” Darshia said, rising from his chair to greet her. “Please, take a seat.” The Larken council obliged and sat around the length of a round, oaken table. Tigahn Dailar, general of the Gildorian armies, had left the front lines of other war campaigns to sit in upon this important conclave. Consuls Freya Windhelm, Froig Windhelm and Tyr Adeptus of Arn were present in Ellin’s Conclave. They were not the aggressors of this war but were surely those who suffered greatest for it. They eyed nearly everyone at the table with animosity and distrust, even their own Larken allies. “Your Majesty,” Ellin said to Darshia, no malice in her tone, “I am honored you would meet with us.” She turned now to Tigahn, the only royal present who had yet to take a seat. “Your grace,” she said, “it seems I underestimated your battle prowess. The old sayings of Gildorian might certainly have not diminished with time.” “Queen Ellin,” Darshia began. “Forgive me, your majesty, but I am no Queen. If you must insist, refer to me as Baroness Song, High Representative of the Merchant’s Guild of Arkrest.” Darshia rolled his eyes. Ellin couldn’t help but laugh. “I’m not much fond of that title, either,” she said with a coo. “Ellin,” Darshia said, dropping all references to titles at all, “I don’t have to tell you this, but our armies have all but surrounded not only Autumn City, but the Larken border. You come to seek an end to this conflict, but Gildor has lost much due to your transgressions.” “Transgressions?” Ellin asked. “It was not Gildor that started this war, even if it means we had to end it.” His fingers coiled around his iconic sword Maerwynn, which even after countless deaths glimmered with perfect clarity. Ellin twirled her fingers through her hair in thought. “Here are my terms, Lord Darshia. This war will cease, peace between our nations and allied nations will henceforth go into effect, and Larkenvale will cede the territory of Bishop’s Harbor back to Oden.” Darshia remained as stone. “That’s… nice, but not nearly enough to warrant us pulling away from your borders and taking whatever we want.” “I wasn’t finished, your highness. Larkenvale will be allowed to remove all their forces stationed in Autumn City and other Arnish outposts and return home. In exchange, we will cede Autumn City to Gildor.” The Consuls of Arn all choked in surprise, their unison of alarm palpable. “My lady!” Consul Freya shouted, “how dare you! You are in no position to offer our city as collateral for your mishandling of this war!” “Oh but Freya, I can. Your armies were decimated when they poorly defended your border from Gildorian invaders, even after the aid we sent. It was your mismanagement of your own kingdom which saw rebels rise, cities fall, and pirates rule the waves. I did what I could, but this was on you.” “You can’t,” Freya said, “Autumn City is the oldest bastion of humanity in Lancerus. It has always belonged to Arn!” “This is the Godswalk, Freya. Things are bound to change. You should be lucky I’m not offering the whole of your kingdom to the north.” Freya had no weapon but her fists; the old woman lunged for Ellin, clawing for her throat. Tigahn reached across the table and, with the power of a bear, slammed the old woman onto the floor. She was silent. The other members of the Arnish Consul withered in fear. “You were saying, Ellin?” Darshia said. “Arn has no standing army, not any longer. Even if they failed to uphold their end of this diplomatic agreement, what could they do to stop you? Allow my army time to leave in our ships, let us return to our kingdom, and we will recognize Autumn City as a vassal state of the sovereignty of Gildor.” Darshia was quiet for a long while. “I will accept these conditions with the addition that Larkenvale pay the crown of Gildor 100,000 sovereigns at the first of every year for the next 10 years, as well as supply Gildor 10,000 men immediately to reinforce Warden’s Gate.” “I will give you my money, but not my men: they have seen enough war.” “And you think mine have not? Warden’s Gate needs men not just to protect Gildor, but to protect all of Lancerus. That includes you. I need more men, I care not where I get them from.” “The Arnish populace, then. Enlist from the workers of Autumn City. There are many lords within its walls that still cling to their slaves which, according to the laws of the Seven, is highly illegal. Liberate those slaves in exchange for service at the Gate.” “Let it be done. Tigahn, if you will?” Tigahn briefly faded into the back quarters of the tent. When he returned, several figures of clerical import were present in tow; Lord Commander Lin Soraus of the Darkmoon Saints, Archbishop Uro Daykin, and a third, hooded figure no taller than a child. Most would not ever have guessed, but Ellin knew the small humanoid to be Sael of the Loremasters, one of the most powerful mages in existence. Even before the Godswalk, they were able to wield forgotten magics. “My,” Ellin said, “this is quite the gathering.” Darshia presented Ellin with a heavy scroll outlining the details of the arrangement, somehow already written onto the page as they had agreed upon. To the letter. Strange runes and glyphs circled the perimeter of the page. For the first time, Ellin’s confidence was shaken. “What is this?” “A Geas,” Darshia said. “The first one of its kind seen in Lancerus since the beginning of the Fourth Age. Thanks to the Godswalk and the talents of those in this room, we have created it for this sole purpose.” “And it does what, exactly?” “A binding promise that you will never, for the rest of your natural life, declare war upon Gildor as an aggressor state, along with the terms of your surrender listed above. Spill your blood upon the page, sign your name, and this meeting will adjourn. You can then go home.” “And if I break it?” “You die. Painfully. No magic save the most powerful divine can break a written Geas.” Darshia produced a clean white dagger and passed it to her. Upon his hand, Ellin could see a fresh sliver of blood from his thumb. “It is time.” ……… “So you signed it?” “Yes,” Ellin said, drinking her tea in the comfort of her own home. The fireplace gently roiled, the smoke of her mortis root wafted in the air, and her guest was imbibing in a very fine wine. “Even now I can feel the Geas; if I so much as think about harming a Gildorian with Larken might, I get this twinge behind my eye. So annoying.” “A small price to pay,” the other woman said, “for so grand a step forward. Larkenvale need not wage war against Gildor for our plans to come to fruition anyways. Remember; the prize of this venture was not to undo Gildor or Oden, but our ‘allies’ in Arn. They are in ruin, and will never be the same again. By the way, I have something for you.” The woman snapped her fingers. “As much as I trust your choice of bodyguard in Aggerlis, he is still only a mortal.” There was the sound of crunching ice, then abrupt silence. Where once was nothing but empty darkness, a humanoid mass now stood. It seemed almost human, though larger and far more decrepit. The whole of its form was wrapped in iron chains and locks. Most of its face, save one eye and bits of gored teeth, were hidden under an iron-chain facade. Ellin rose from her chair, not in alarm, but in curiosity. As she approached the hulking form, she noted the ebb and flow and black juices around the corners of its mangled eye, the bits of flesh and hair wound around the iron carapace that bound him. “This is Angwedh,” the woman said. “He served me in Caer Khasa as my protection and as my walking vault.” With a wave of her hand she produced a key from the air and gifted it to Ellin. “Ellin Song, for your service to Herra and to me, for your devotion to the doctrines of the Five and the Goth, I hereby name you Matriarch of Lancerus.” She presented the key to Ellin. “Matriarch?” Ellin gasped, though she did not dwell long on the shock. Though she was hardly even an acolyte before this day, she had every right to be a Matriarch. She deserved it. “You humble me with your trust, High Matriarch Uma,” Ellin said, bowing. “But is not the title of Matriarch of Lancerus already taken?” “Gi-Hallivalah is no more, unfortunately. She held great promise, but failed to procure Malek’Reth for me before being slain by a few uppity Darkmoon. And to think she had so much potential…” Ellin digested the words but said nothing. She plunged the key towards Angwedh’s chest into the only discernible lock it would fit. His ribs opened, revealing not a heart or lungs, but a large book bound in black leather. Ellin removed the book and studied the words upon the cover. Her fingers tingled. “This is… this is Awatum Ina Herra. How… how did you get this? This is even more rare than the Five Phylacteries.” “You doubt your Matron Mother? How else do you think the other Matriarchs and I got the power we wield? We are not the simpletons that comprise the clerical ranks of our enemies; prayer and fasting are nothing but signs of weakness and doubt. The Goth did not pray; the Goth did not fast. He sought Herra and everything She was with action. So, too, will you. Angwedh will guide you through this tome and make sure you learn at the appropriate pace. Go too fast and your head might explode… literally.” Ellin couldn’t help but laugh. “I know that Matriarchs, and other students of Herra, change their names to reflect their status as one of her children, but…” “Keep your name, Ellin,” Uma said. “It’s the name I’ve known you by since we were little girls, and Herra has been with us every step of the way since then. To Her, you have always been Ellin Song.” “Then what am I to do first, Mother Uma?” “Read, study, practice in secret. Once you are able to create your own version of ‘Angwedh’, you will have learned enough to take what is rightfully Herra’s. One by one the kingdoms of Men will falter. Lancerus will be ours.” “And what are you going to do, Matron Mother?” “It seems that Gi-Hallivalah left me to clean up her mess. She wasn’t able to get Maleka’s Phylactery from the Crusade. It’s high time I paid little Nex Belain a visit… and showed him what real fear is.” Category:World Lore